


candid

by asahijpeg



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Photography, keishin with his hair down bc i think it would be nice, this is just wish fulfillment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asahijpeg/pseuds/asahijpeg
Summary: out of all the muses in the world, he was probably your favorite one
Relationships: Ukai Keishin/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 65





	candid

there is a singular moment every morning, just about when the sun is rising from its slumber for the day, when keishin’s alarm goes off and you both wake up and you get to revel in the softness of his embrace as your body unfogs itself from the grasp of sleep. his chest rises and falls against you, no matter what position you ended up sleeping in, his arms caging you against him, his breath stirring your hair, messy from your sleep. he’s always quick to shut the alarm off, but slow to get out of bed, most certainly so that he can prolong basking in the soft expanse of you.

  
you love these shared moments, where sunlight is just barely peeking over the treeline miles off, piercing through the curtains in tiny pinpricks, turning dust into little gold specks; where keishin, half asleep and uncharacteristically tender, presses soft kisses to wherever he can reach, his eyes closed; where his fingers, all rough and gentle, dance across skin and fabric alike, showering you in affection. you love these shared moments because you get to see a part of him that the rest of the world doesn’t, though you often wonder if it ever even has.

  
all too soon, he’s untangling himself from you and shuffling himself out from underneath the covers, leaving you in the warmth of your shared bed alone, the place where his body once laid already cooling in the wake of his absence. your eyes follow him across the bedroom, his already golden hair transforming into liquid metal, practically sparkling in the sunlight that catches him just right, makes him look fuzzy around the edges like he’s not actually real.

  
these views, the ones where his sweatpants are slung low on his hips and his back muscles are all you can see as his arms stretch above his head, his hair shimmering in the early morning light, are the ones you don’t capture pictures of; instead, you store them away in your own memory, in a metaphorical folder that’s aptly named “keishin in the morning.” you remember these intangible snapshots when he’s not around or when he’s in throes of ranting about his volleyball team, full of rascals and munchkins alike, to remind yourself that, at least with you, he’s a soft, only-sometimes-quiet man who appreciates his silent mornings and lazing in bed and moving around the apartment in a groggy stupor as he tries to wake himself up for the day.

  
he follows the same routine every day, no matter what he has on his agenda, whether it be going to a penciled in morning practice at the gym just up the hill or an errand he has to run or just going in to work at sakanoshita or or or… he always spends time, even just a fleeting moment, showering you in affection before he departs from the warm confines of your pile of blankets and limbs, making his way towards the bathroom to really wake himself up.

  
he always gives you enough time to roll out of bed yourself, albeit reluctantly as his lingering warmth and the comforting press of the duvet and quilts provide you with an overwhelming desire to let it all lull you back to sleep, and make your way to the kitchen. while he goes through the part of his routine that is hidden away behind the bathroom door, you put on the kettle for tea and maybe start on breakfast, waiting for your own turn to use the bathroom space for your own morning pattern that doesn’t involve his presence, a little slice of time where you to wake up and refresh on your own because you spend so much of your time with him; not that you don’t love each other or anything, but because it’s nice to have something just for yourself that is separate from him, a personal time where you can reflect on yourself and what your day looks like out of these few long moments you get to share with him every morning.

  
keishin emerges from the bathroom like he always does, a fresh shirt pulled over his head but his headband missing, likely still sitting untouched on the sink counter. he pads into the kitchen, his rarely loose hair hanging over his forehead in golden tendrils that tickle against your skin when he leans in to give you a kiss on the cheek before you can escape to the bathroom. you can tell he takes delight in the way your shoulders shake in quiet laughter as you shake your head, brushing his hair back with your fingers so the strands are swept off to one side. with his hair out of the way, you let him kiss you again, properly this time, before you take your leave, trusting him to make his tea and finish making breakfast for the both of you.

  
in the bathroom, you can feel his still-lingering presence, mostly in the way of the fading scent of his favorite cologne and the small bit of toothpaste that always seems to escape being washed down the drain; you never fail to realize, in moments like this, that you’re never _truly_ without him because there’s always some part of him that remains in the places he exists in, even if only for short periods of time. as you’re going about your routine, sure enough, you spot his black headband left askew on the counter next to the sink and you silently thank as many gods as you possibly can for it because you hardly ever get to see him with his hair down, natural and pretty and so soft.

  
you come out of the bathroom not long after and as you’re padding back towards the living space, you catch a glimpse of keishin sitting at the kitchen table, mug raised to his lips. he’s framed so perfectly against the sunlight streaming in through the balcony door, his figure misty around the edges like a faded photograph. the scene is too perfect for you to not capture it on a physical memory card, so you sneak off to your bedroom to retrieve your camera, carrying it delicately as you make your way back into the dining area.

  
without a word, you power your camera on and raise the device to your face, ready to focus your shot. keishin is slightly ascance, lined up on the right side of the frame. even in the tiny viewfinder, he looks so ethereal, so not of this world; the sunlight still makes the edges of him fuzzy, seamlessly blends him into its rays, like he’s an angel coming down from heaven… or something like that.

  
and he would be if he wasn’t so crass, so crude, so overbearingly loud most of the time, but even that doesn’t stop him from being so gentle, so loving, so kind and considerate and compassionate when it comes to you. so in a way, he is an angel, you won’t rob him of that, even though his usual demeanor conveys otherwise.

  
you’re grateful that your camera’s exposure time is fast because when the shutter goes off, keishin is immediately turning around and looking at you, a dark eyebrow raised in amused inquiry. he speaks the first words either of you have said in the thirty minutes you’ve been awake, breaking the tranquil silence of your apartment at seven in the morning.

“what was that for?”

  
his voice is rough with disuse after hours of sleeping, not even warmed up by the still steaming mug of hot tea in his hands, but it still makes you soft, meek, maybe even a little embarrassed to be caught in the act of taking a candid picture like that. it’s not like you haven’t done this countless times before, taken impromptu photos of him, and it’s not like he hasn’t ever explicitly told you not to (in fact, he always seems to _encourage_ it instead, throwing compliments your way when you show him finished products after edits), but still, you can feel the shyness creeping through your skin like ice, freezing you in place; it almost makes him laugh.

  
“well, you just looked so nice and i didn’t want to pass up the opportunity for a pretty candid of you,” you explain, fidgeting with your camera.

  
this time, he does laugh, a soft, barely there chuckle, his shoulders trembling as he does so. when he looks up at you again, he shakes his head, his loose golden strands dancing with the effort, and then he’s standing, making his way over to you with the brightest smile he can manage this early in the morning. he stops next to you and throws an arm around your shoulders, nestling you against his side so he can press a kiss against your temple.

  
“you know i’m just kidding with you,” he says, peering down at you. “i’m always happy to be your muse. honored, even.”

  
you let out a sigh of relief. you don’t think you’ll ever be able to get over all of keishin’s teasing; he just does it too well, always able to get your heart racing in no time flat without even really doing anything.

  
“now come on, let’s see the picture.”

  
and just like that, you’re up in arms again, that ice still inching its way through your veins. he’s seen your work more times than you can even begin to count and he’s always been so supportive, but when he asks that dreaded question, you still choke up; you value his opinion over everyone else’s because if keishin ukai, your muse and lover and best friend, doesn’t like something you’ve created, then why would anyone else? still, when he looks at you with that sleepy soft gaze of his, all dark brown depths that match his unbleached roots, you feel weak, disarmed and seeking his attention, his approval because it matters more than anything else.

  
so you do. you pull up the snapshot on the screen and tilt it in his direction so he can see it better and wait anxiously for his response. if he doesn’t like it, then maybe you’ll just quit photography forever because really, if you can’t capture him in all of his early morning, bathed in sunlight, quiet beauty, then what is the point of anything? if you can’t capture him in such a simple scene, then are you really any good at all?

  
his arm tightens around you and he lets out a sigh through his nose and you can hear the soft smile in his voice when he says, “it’s a really good shot.”

  
he tilts the camera back in your direction, practically nudging it towards your face as if telling you to take a peek at your work, so you do. and what keishin says, goes.

  
the picture is framed just right and the lighting is so gold and you’ve captured the man just like you wanted, soft and foggy at the edges and blended into the sunlight like he’s stepping right out of the beams of light shining in through the balcony doors. you’ve even managed to capture the steam of his tea in the shot, curling up and up and up until it disappears, meshes with the brilliant sunshine. even in this raw form, the photo looks perfect -- he looks perfect. you haven’t even thought about editing and filters and the like, but you’re already starting to wonder if maybe you should leave it as is.

  
“thank you, kei,” you say bashfully, still peering down at the device in your hands.

  
you can feel him nod next to you and then lean over, chest pressing against your arm and breath stirring your hair like it does in bed, so that he can get another look at the screen. “it really does look great. maybe you should add it to your portfolio.”

  
that really catches your attention and you nearly clash foreheads with him when you turn to look up at him. you have to shake yourself out of your stupor and once you’ve gotten your bearings, you make a face at him. “you really think so?”

  
he shrugs his shoulders in response, glancing at you then back to the screen. “i mean, yeah, why not? i know i don’t have an eye for this kind of stuff like you do, but i think it looks nice. you haven’t even edited it yet and it already looks perfect. doesn’t that deserve some kind of recognition?”

  
you turn your sight back to the picture, almost like you’re sizing it up against keishin’s words. he’s right, you think, because he’s always right and he would never lie to you, especially when it comes to your craft. he always gives you honest opinions on your work, so why should you think he’s suddenly decided to lie through his teeth this time?

  
just as you’re about to answer him, he’s suddenly whisking himself up in his typical cocky, disgruntled demeanor. “plus i’m your best subject. i think i deserve to be in that portfolio of yours.”

  
you look back up at him, your eyes playfully narrowing in response; he mirrors you. “keep that attitude up and i might just take out all of the pictures of you i’ve put in it.”

  
keishin jokingly startles at that before he’s wrapping both of his arms around your waist and burying his face into the junction between your shoulder and neck. “you wouldn’t _dare_.”

  
“try me, keishin.”


End file.
